


Evan Hansen and the Draft of Living Death

by shyberius



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Harry Potter - Freeform, Hogwarts AU, Multi, Suicide mentions, dear evan hansen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-06-22 18:48:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15588390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shyberius/pseuds/shyberius
Summary: Since his first year at Hogwarts, Evan Hansen has always had a burning question: why was he sorted into Slytherin? He doesn't belong there, where his housemates are cunning, ruthless purebloods like Jared Kleinman.It's only when he hears of the death of Connor Murphy, the quiet, troubled Ravenclaw in his potions class, that he finally begins to discover why he was sorted into Slytherin house. As Evan gets pulled into a web of deception, lies and ambition, the decisions he make put the fate of the Murphys - and the wizarding world - into his trembling hands.





	1. The Final Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That was the real reason Evan hated his tie. He hated it because he didn't belong here; ever since seven years ago, when the Sorting Hat had sent him, shaking, towards the Slytherin table, he'd been out of place. There was absolutely nothing about Evan Hansen - shy, stuttering, Herbology extraordinaire - that lined up with a Slytherin.

Seventh year. The final year _. Put on your tie. Unpack your spell books. Breathe. You can do this._

But Evan's tie felt like a noose. He ran his finger over the worn stitchings, thinking about how his mom had had to restitch it countless times instead of affording a new one. His tie was in the same state as most of Evan's things: second hand, overused, faded.

Not like Jared Kleinman's things. They were already strewn across his bed, messily kept but pristine. Expensive robes, hardback books, a wand with blood-coloured rubies inlaid in the handle. Jared regularly reminded him of this difference.

But that wasn't the reason Evan hated his tie. He hated it for the colour. For everything the green and silver represented.

He hated _Slytherin_.

Just as he finished unpacking his things, folding them neatly under his bed, the door of the formerly quiet dormitory banged open.

"Back for another year of Hogwarts, Hansen?" Jared strode into the room and sat down heavily on Evan's bed without asking. Evan winced; he'd just smoothed out the sheets.

He also wasn't sure whether or not this was a rhetorical question. Of course he was back for another year of Hogwarts; why else would he be here? "You sound surprised."

"Not surprised," grinned Jared. "Disappointed." His head boy badge gleamed in the lamplight. Evan was pretty sure Jared had put a spell on it to make it gleam on demand.

"Aren't you supposed to be at the Sorting?" Asked Evan matter-of-factedly. This was meant to be an innocent question, but came out sounding scathing.

"Aren't you supposed to be in Hufflepuff?" Came the usual reply. Jared always answered a question with another question. And that question always hurt.

Because that was the real reason Evan hated his tie. He hated it because he didn't belong here; ever since seven years ago, when the Sorting Hat had sent him, shaking, towards the Slytherin table, he'd been out of place. There was absolutely nothing about Evan Hansen - shy, stuttering, Herbology extraordinaire - that lined up with a Slytherin.

_Put on your tie, Hansen._

So he did, in full view of Jared's derisive sneer.

*

The highlight of the Great Feast, and the Sorting that came with it, was the afterparty. Organised by the indomitable Alana Beck, this party took place in the dark recesses of the Slytherin common room and was highly exclusive. This meant that only Slytherins were allowed.

Evan usually hid in his room until it was finished. But this time, because it was his final year, he'd dragged himself downstairs to take part in the commotion. There were some things, he mused, that he'd miss in a strange way. He'd miss the plush, velvet armchairs; the enchanted glasses that filled up when you looked at them, and the bustling house elves that came up to his ankles. Evan had been the only Slytherin to acknowledge the house elves' existence - he was friends with some of them. They'd sneak him food from the kitchen, seeming to find companionship in the fact that neither him nor the house elves belonged here.

As Evan perched on a table in the corner, holding an untouched glass of wine, a hand tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around in its direction, expecting to see someone.

The space next to him was empty. "Who-who's there?" He whispered into the space, hoping no one heard him. They'd think he was crazy.

"If I told you my name, that would be cheating."

Evan froze. He knew that voice better than he'd ever admit. "Zoe? Zoe Murphy?"

Zoe's voice shushed him urgently. "Don't tell anyone. You were the one Slytherin I thought I could count on to keep quiet."

"What are you doing here?" Hissed Evan, trying to ignore the thump of his heart in his chest. The afterparty was for Slytherins only. Zoe Murphy was a Gryffindor through-and-through, and she'd be kicked out in a second.

Her voice carried barely-concealed excitement. "I've always wanted to gate crash a Slytherin party. And my brother bet me a new broomstick I couldn't, so here I am."

Evan fantasised about having enough money to gamble with broomsticks. "How come I can't see you?"

"The cloak, of course."

Of _course_. When Harry Potter had left Hogwarts, he'd given the invisibility cloak as a gift to Gryffindor house. Evan suspected he'd be happy it was being used for mischief.

"Are you going to drink that?" Zoe's voice hovered somewhere above Evan's left shoulder.

He shook his head, letting his drink be taken off him by an invisible hand. He could hear the clink of the glass against Zoe's teeth.

 _Zoe Murphy_. Quidditch team captain. Teacher's favourite. A whole world out of his league.

"Now," she said, suddenly sounding businesslike, "I didn't come here just to stand invisible. I need your help."

Evan nearly choked on his own breath. "H-help?" He spluttered.

"I need the password to the girls' dormitories."

Surely Evan had misheard - it was, after all, loud in here. "You...what?"

"You know what I said. The password."

"Why would you need -"

"I have some bones to pick. Now, no more questions."

Evan hated breaking the rules. Even worse was assisting someone in doing bad things. (And this, he was sure by the knife edge of Zoe's voice, was a bad thing.) But if it meant being on speaking terms with her, he'd do anything. Plus, even if he refused to give her the password, she'd still find a way to get in. Zoe Murphy was kind of unstoppable that way.

"It's _Veles_." The Slavic God of serpents. He knew this because, one night last year, Jared had managed to get invited into the girls' dorms. He'd boasted about it for weeks.

Without warning, Zoe touched Evan's shoulder affectionately. "Thank you."

Then, with a soft stirring of air, she left his side. Evan touched the place where her invisible hand had been, dumbstruck.

Maybe, if it had Zoe Murphy in it, this year wouldn't be so bad after all.


	2. Dear Evan Hansen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan could feel his palms break out in sweat. Jared couldn't - wouldn't - read it out to anyone else. Surely he'd never -
> 
> "This looks like some quality breakfast entertainment," grinned Jared, waving the letter.
> 
> "No," Evan's voice was hoarse. "No, no, nonono -"
> 
> But Jared had already bounded out of the door, followed by the rest of the dormitory's echoing laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There is a description of a panic attack in this chapter.

A new year at school meant a new letter. At the beginning of each year, Evan would write a letter to himself that he'd keep tucked away under his bed. He didn't even know why he wrote them - they never seemed to do any good. But it was like a tradition now, a kind of rhythm he'd got himself into.

Perhaps those letters were the only things keeping him sane.

So, once he'd left the afterparty, he sat down alone at his desk, fished out some parchment from his drawer, and began to write.

_Dear Evan Hansen,_

_Today's going to be an amazing year, and here's why..._

He must have been more tired than he thought he was, because the next thing he knew the sunlight was streaming through the window, and he was slumped across the desk with an ink stain on his neck.

"Wakey, wakey," Jared jabbed him in the back with his quill. Evan groaned softly. "Oh! What's that?" Before Evan could get up, Jared had snatched up the letter. "'Dear Evan Hansen...'" He began to read theatrically, making sure the other boys in the dorm could hear. They were snickering in unison.

"Give that _back_!" Evan, his eyes still bleary from sleep, made a grab for the letter and missed. Jared's laughter rang out even louder than before.

Evan made a jump for it again, finally getting hold of the piece of stupid parchment. But Jared had his wand. " _Accio_!" He shouted gleefully as the letter soared back into his hands.

Evan could feel his palms break out in sweat. Jared couldn't - _wouldn't_ \- read it out to anyone else. Surely he'd never -

"This looks like some quality breakfast entertainment," grinned Jared, waving the letter.

"No," Evan's voice was hoarse. "No, no, nonono -"

But Jared had already bounded out of the door, followed by the rest of the dormitory's echoing laughter.

*

Needless to say, Evan skipped breakfast. But his day was about to worsen.

He looked at his lesson timetable: double charms. He guessed that wasn't too bad. He shrugged on his robes, wedged his books under his arm and began the ascent up the moving staircases and towards the charms classroom. Alone, like every other day.

Only before he could open the classroom door, he was stopped by a familiar face.

Professor Slughorn. Head of Slytherin house. Usually, the only time Slughorn needed to talk to Evan was to give him a pat on the back for not causing trouble. But today, his expression was stormy.

Evan's throat closed up. Perhaps Jared really had read the letter out loud to the whole school. _Maybe that's why I'm in trouble._

But Slughorn wasn't about to tell him, yet. Instead, he simply said, "Mr Hansen, I can't believe the day has finally come that you've broken school rules. But, alas. Come to my office, now."

Evan couldn't disguise his sweaty hands as he followed Slughorn to his office. He tries to wipe them on his cloak, but that just made the cloak sweaty, so now both his hands and the cloak were sweaty.

To his surprise, two other students were sitting in Slughorn's office upon his arrival. One was Alana Beck - the Slytherin head girl whom Evan was too afraid to talk to. Next to her, her face fixed in a scowl that made her the spitting image of her brother, was Zoe Murphy.

He was beckoned into a seat beside Zoe. They avoided eye contact with each other.

"Right." Slughorn squeezed himself into a seat opposite the three students, rearranging a pile of parchment in front of him. "Let's cut straight to the matter. We have three offences which need taking care of. The first," he shot a condescending look at Zoe, "is the trespassing onto Slytherin ground without school permission." Evan remembered in a flash the events of last night. Zoe's voice in his ear, and her featherlight touch on his shoulder.

"The second," he looked pointedly at both Zoe and Alana, who was looking smug, "is the deliberate damage to another student's property. Do you deny, miss Murphy, putting biting jinxes onto Alana Beck's textbooks?" Zoe smirked so subtly that only Evan noticed it. As for Alana - he looked more closely - he could make out red welts on her hands and legs from where the jinxed textbooks must have bitten her.

Despite all his best efforts, it took everything in him not to smirk along with Zoe.

"The third and final offence," Slughorn now directed his gaze at Evan. "Is the aiding of a student to carry out this damage. Did you not, Mr Hansen, provide miss Murphy with the password to the girls' dormitories?"

Evan's stomach did a horrified flip. Because he had, hadn't he? He couldn't deny it. It was his fault, all his fault -

"Excuse me, sir," he mustered. "Can I -" His throat was closing up again. His lungs were scrabbling for air, but there was nothing there. "I need to get out."

"You're not leaving this room until I decide how to correctly punish you." Retorted Slughorn. "School rules, Hansen."

Evan vision swam. This couldn't be happening now - Zoe would never talk to him again, and Alana would tell Jared, who would tell the whole school. Then the whole school would know that he was a freak who couldn't handle social situations.

As if they already didn't know.

"Sir," It was Zoe's voice. "He's ill. He needs to go to the Infirmary..."

Her voice faded out into nothing. Soon the only thing Evan could see was black.

*

Most students in the Infirmary were there because of an injury they'd landed in Quidditch practise. They had their teammates around their beds, sharing sweets and laughing.

But Evan was here because he had panicked. Again. Not only had he panicked, but his only visitor was his mom. He'd half hoped that Zoe would visit him, but that was unrealistic. She was probably in a thousand detentions, and even if she weren't, she'd have real friends to spend time with.

The saddest thing was that he hadn't had a full conversation with his mom since they'd arrived. She'd been promoted to head of Hufflepuff house, which had its endless list of responsibilities. Apparently caring for your disappointing Slytherin son was at the bottom of that list.

When she came, Evan tried to keep the conversation as short as possible. He didn't want her to know that he'd panicked because he was in trouble - that was the last thing she needed. Plus, he didn't want to give her another reason to be disappointed in him.

The disappointment that had started the moment he'd been sorted into Slytherin.

Someone had left some parchment and a quill by his bed. Evan guessed he needed to rewrite that letter to himself, as the original one was in the hands of Jared.

That letter hadn't been the truth, anyway. This one was the real truth.

He took a deep, shaky breath, and began to write.

_Dear Evan Hansen,_

_Turns out this wasn’t an amazing day after all. This isn’t going to be an amazing week or an amazing year, because why would it be?_

_I know, because there’s Zoe, and all my hope is pinned on Zoe, who I don’t even know, and doesn’t know me. Maybe if I could just talk to her. Maybe nothing would be different at all. I wish everything was different._

_I wish I was part of something. I wish that anything I said mattered to anyone. I mean face it, would anyone notice if I just disappeared tomorrow?_

_Sincerely,_

_Your most best, and dearest friend, Me_


	3. Living Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because he was so engrossed in the making of the potion, Evan didn't notice when Connor leaned over his shoulder. "It's two teaspoons," Connor said in his ear.
> 
> Evan started violently, dropping his teaspoon of wolfsbane into his lap. The substance burned a small hole through his robes. "But - but it says here that it's...one?" He stammered.
> 
> "Trust me," Connor smirked to himself, a sure sign that he wasn't to be trusted. "It's two."

Evan usually enjoyed potions class. Slughorn, being his head of house, was warm towards him. Plus, he'd got an O in it last year, and he was pretty sure he was top of the class.

Well, top of the class except one. Connor Murphy (at least, Evan _thought_ that was his name. It could have been Callum or Cormac), who sat at the back with a permanent scowl half-concealed by a curtain of dark hair, always seemed to beat him in practicals. Evan had never known him to be enthusiastic about anything, but there was something about the concentration with which he chopped ingredients and poured out different quantities that indicated his love for potions.

Evan guessed everyone had to be interested in _something_.

Although Evan had always enjoyed potions, with Slughorn's jovial smile and the comforting smell of Amortentia (which, to him, smelt like apple blossom. That was his favourite smell), today was different. Due to the events of the day before, Slughorn no longer smiled at him, but curtly nodded his head as he entered the room. The expression on his face seemed to say, _You may think you've gotten out of detention, but I have other plans for you._

As if panicking was something Evan could control.

Evan sat down in his usual seat, placing his rusty cauldron carefully on his desk and taking his potions textbook out of his bag. Next to him sat Connor Murphy, who didn't seem to notice his presence.

Evan tucked the letter into the textbook. No one would find it there.

Slughorn silenced the class with a small have of his hand. "Good morning, seventh years," his gaze roved around the room. "It's your last year at Hogwarts, and your most challenging yet. That's why I thought it would be fitting," his gaze lingered on Evan, "to start with a challenge. More specifically, the most difficult potion on the syllabus."

A few students groaned; Connor looked indifferent; Alana clapped her hands together in delight.

"Can anyone tell me what potion that might be, class?" Asked Slughorn.

"Draft of Living Death." The voice was low and grating, like sandpaper. It came from next to Evan.

Connor Murphy had never spoken in class before. Every head turned to him in unison, and Slughorn looked unsure of what to say. "That is...correct, Mr...ah..."

"Murphy." Connor shot him a withering glare.

"Right! Of course..." Something about Connor's stare seemed to leave Slughorn at a loss for words. "Erm...Miss Beck, could you kindly tell us about the Draft of Living Death?"

Alana nodded her head brightly. Slughorn's shoulders relaxed, clearly pleased to be speaking to someone familiar. Normal. Not at all like Connor Murphy. "The Draft of Living Death," she began, "is an extremely powerful sleeping draught, which sends the drinker into a deathlike slumber. Its effects are similar to suspended animation."

"Excellent," concluded Slughorn. "And do you know what makes this potion so difficult to concoct?"

Connor's voice was louder now, knifelike, cutting through the air. "The wrong quantities make it fatal to the drinker."

An awkward silence fell upon the students again. Slughorn wrung his hands together, clearly at a loss for words. "That's...that's absolutely correct, Mr Murphy. Five points to Ravenclaw."

A few Ravenclaws in the back high-fived each other under their desks.. Connor had never contributed to his house's success before.

Slughorn clapped his hands together suddenly. "Open your textbooks to page 52, and follow the instructions exactly as they tell you." He placed special emphasis on the word _exactly_.

In a split second, the class erupted into a hubbub of chatting and the flicking of pages, the event of Connor's talking forgotten. None of them would remember what he'd said by the time they left the classroom.

Evan fumbled with the pages until he found the right page. It didn't look too complicated, he reasoned, apart from the crushing of the black beetle. You had to crush it with the base of your knife in a certain way, apparently, not too hard but not too soft.

Because he was so engrossed in the making of the potion, Evan didn't notice when Connor leaned over his shoulder. "It's two teaspoons," Connor said in his ear.

Evan started violently, dropping his teaspoon of wolfsbane into his lap. The substance burned a small hole through his robes. "But - but it says here that it's...one?" He stammered.

"Trust me," Connor smirked to himself, a sure sign that he wasn't to be trusted. "It's two."

Evan frowned to himself. He guessed that Connor was good at potions, but so was he, and that was because he followed the rules. So he tipped one teaspoon of wolfsbane into his cauldron, ignoring Connor.

Then he stole a glance at Connor's potion. While Evan's was looking as it should - clear, dark and unmoving - Connor's looked...off. Instead of being calm, it was swirling and sloshing over the edge, like a minature storm.

"I..." Evan took a deep breath. "I think you're...doing it wrong."

Connor's grip on the edge of his cauldron tightened.

"Not - not that you aren't _good_ ," Evan said hastily, terrified of angering him, "it's just...it doesn't look right. I'm just - just trying to help you - "

"I don't _want_ ," Connor hissed malevolently, "your _help_."

Evan withdrew back to his cauldron, stung, his heart hammering.

"This textbook's all wrong anyway," Connor muttered angrily, snatching up Evan's textbook. "Whoever wrote this clearly has no idea - " A thin sheaf of paper fell out of the book and landed on Connor's desk. He tilted his head in curiosity, picking it up and unfolding it.

With a flash of dizziness, Evan realised that it was the letter he'd written to himself. The letter that no one was supposed to find.

He could feel his throat closing up as Connor's eyes slowly scanned the letter. It was like a specialised kind of torture.

"What the hell is this?" He murmured, holding the letter between thumb and forefinger as if it were dirty. He mimicked Evan's faltering voice: " _All my hope is pinned on Zoe, who I don’t even know, and doesn’t know me._ You wrote some creepy shit about my sister," he was nearly spitting now, treating the words like poison on his mouth, "so that I'd freak out? In front of everyone?"

Evan didn't dare to move in his seat. Why had everyone - particularly those with the surname Murphy - suddenly turned on him? Why now? "I - I didn't mean -"

"Because _it'd be fun_ , wouldn't it?" Connor edged closer to Evan, his eyes glazed over and black, "to watch me _freak out_ on everyone, because I'm the _freak_. You know what, Evan Hansen? _You're_ the freak."

With his last words, Connor stuffed the letter into his pocket and swept out of the classroom, ignoring the stunned silence that followed in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always feel like I overuse italics???? anyway enjoy Connor's grand entrance


End file.
